


My Brother's Zoot Suit

by OnlyHalfSerious



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, M/M, QPOC speakeasy, Trini in a zoot suit, West Hollywood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyHalfSerious/pseuds/OnlyHalfSerious
Summary: Trini Gomez's twin brother just died. But Trini is suspicious of his accident, and if the cops won't investigate it, she'll have to. With the hep of a few friends and a mysterious girl she meets nightly, can Trini learn the truth?I wrote this for my Noir class forever ago, so enjoy. It's in first tho, so idk if that's a deal breaker.





	1. Chapter 1

The last time I prayed to God it was that my brother would be okay, but here I was watching him be lowered into the ground. I bit my cheek and stared at his tombstone. 

Carlos Gomez 

March 13, 1928 -- May 30, 1946 

Sueñe con los angelitos. 

My mother always told us that before bed. Dream of the Angels, or dream with them, depends on how you wanna translate it. Leave it to my mother to take something that was supposed to be shared between me and Carlos and give it to him alone. Granted, I supposed it was easier to imagine him sleeping than dead. And I suppose as well that it was easier to imagine him with angels. He couldn’t handle anything else. Me, I’d be okay relegated to the demons.

I bit my cheek hard as the priest went on about my brother as though he’d known him from our baptism and weekly obligatory church visits. I was angry at him for praying to a god who had ignored me and left me to live and watch my brother die. I was angry at my parents for forcing me into a dress for the occasion. I was angry at my cousins for acting like they ever cared about my brother. I was angry at my aunts for telling me it would all be okay. I was even angry at Carlos for leaving me here, alone. I never thought I’d be angry at my twin brother’s funeral, but I never thought I’d be at my brother’s funeral at all. I had figured since we were born the same day that we would die the same day. 

Carlos was the same height as me, which got him teased quite a bit. Most people liked calling him “Mini Mexican.” Plural when I was next to him. For being twins we didn’t hang out together too much, we weren’t really involved in the same things. For one, Carlos was a boy and Mexican boys can get away with way more than Mexican girls. He wasn’t expected home at the same hours that I was. He didn’t have to come home and clean and cook like I did. He didn’t have to answer all the questions I did when I got home. Things always seemed so much easier for my brother.

Then he fell off a ladder and cracked his skull open. At least that’s what they said. It didn’t make sense to me. Carlos was afraid of heights, he never even dove off the diving board the few times we went to the pool. I started asking the cops, never getting answered until I screamed and my mother pulled me away saying I was just feeling emotional over my brother. Nothing I said, no matter how calm I said it, would get anyone to listen to me anyway. “It was an accident, kid. Case closed.”  

After the burial we went to one of my Dad’s employee’s apartment a few blocks away from our house. Something about needing to not hosts guests in these trying times. I spent most of the time seated on a couch with a plate on my lap, the same three carrots sitting next to two discarded bits of cilantro from the tacos I ate when I first got there. Very few people talked to me, but many stared.

I could see it all played out on their faces. They all wondered how they would react if something like this had happened to them. They all wondered if they would be as somber and angry-looking as I was in that moment. Then they judged that no matter what a girl shouldn’t be angry.

I drank from a glass of water wishing it was something stronger. I’d had a break in my routine for this funeral. I had actually slept last night which was something I hadn’t done in the last several months. No, nights were reserved and I hated missing appointments. But instead I was needed here. And though I knew and honored my obligation to my brother, something in me wanted to be far away.

I stood up and felt everyone watching me, even my parents. I walked into the small kitchen in the apartment. It had a window that looked out into another kitchen in the building next door. There two kids were eating sandwiches. The peanut butter and jelly jars stood open on the counter. The kids sat at a small table and I knew they’d eat first when they got home from school and their parents would eat later. No use in trying to buy four chairs. I watched the girl stand up and go to the counter. She looked visibly younger, about nine years old and the brother looked about twelve. She closed the jars and put them away and washed the knife until her brother brought his plate over and left it on the counter for her to wash. I wanted to believe they took turns and I just caught them on her day, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I washed my plate and leaned on the counter. I watched the kitchen after the little girl had left. Just watched as nothing happened. Stared at their sink, a thick layer of grime to it. That grime that always stuck around from the previous tenants no matter how hard you scrubbed. The chipped paint on the stove and bits of tortilla masa stuck to one of the burners. The overused dish towels that had faded through every shade of gray but would have to work until the next paycheck. Or the one after that. I watched the kitchen of my childhood and teenage years while my father was off in Europe fighting in the war. I just stood there watching the sun make shadows over the counters and over the cabinets and over the table with two chairs. I stood there and watched the sun make shadows over my memories. Once there was no way to see into the window anymore a hand grabbed my shoulder and walked me out of the house.

“Tranquila, mija,” my father said as we walked home. But I couldn’t act any more calm if I tried.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later, once I heard my parents snoring, I slipped out of my window. I stole my brother’s bike like I had any other night and rode out of Palo Verde headed towards Hollywood. I could see its twinkly lights from where I sat on Carlosʻ bike on my hill. I lived in a sort of neighborhood whose name the papers never got right. They always called it Chavez Ravine, but we weren’t as close to that as they thought. My house wasnʻt even totally in the neighborhood; my dad bought a house closer to his work in Chinatown. Heʻd also planned on getting us into a better school, but they wouldnʻt let us in. Apparently we didnʻt “speak good enough English” to which I muttered “speak English well enough.” 

My hands gripped harder as I rode the bike down the dirt hill and headed into Echo Park. At this hour, no one was on patrol. During the day, I wouldnʻt exactly be banned from Echo Park, but I sure would feel unwelcome and watched. I enjoyed it while I could, hidden in the dark. The trails though unpaved were packed down hard from high quality shoes on little kids who never kept them clean. There were trees and there was grass all over and even a play structure and as much as I hated to admit it, I would’ve loved to be able to see it during the day. The greenery looked black at this hour, like at night the trees could become monsters. Something about the night could turn anything into a monster. Then again, the monsters during the day were the ones you had to fear. 

The bike rolled more smoothly when I hit the paved Sunset Boulevard. I entered through the newly Armenian neighborhood. There was some dangerous circumstances in their home country that brought them here to L.A. Some went to Glendale, but some came here to this little section of East Hollywood. I rode past mostly closed business and a couple open bars.  I turned into the back alley before North Highland Ave. while I was still in the dark. The further you got into actual and West Hollywood, the brighter the night got. Good ʻol celebrities and their luxurious lives, ya know? 

The funny thing about my secret was that it was kind of everyone’s secret. Even the city’s and especially Sunset’s. I found a white boy behind the building at the end of the alley I was in. He was moving empty soda bottles into crates then stacking them. His hair was slicked down neatly and he wore a Letterman sweater. He looked like a proper teenage boy, he was the perfect decoy. Jason stayed outside in the early parts of the night ʻtil his uncle took over later to let the boy sleep. For such a non-routine club, they played routine well.

“Working hard, Jason?” I asked. He turned and smiled at me. 

“You know me, Trini,” he answered. Jason’s uncle owned this place. It was two things.  _ Uncle and Pops _ , a soda shop during the day where Jason and his cousin, Amanda, worked. And at night it was something else, where Jason and his boyfriend, Billy, worked. I’d never been to their soda shop, but I was always at their secret something else. Some people called it Under Up’s or Up Under, but most didnʻt call it anything for fear theyʻd get caught there. In any case, the place got a secret reputation and some curious tourists showed up from time to time.

Billy and Jason brought me here two summers ago after they found three sailors kicking my ass near Chinatown. Luckily they showed up right when one of them yelled, “Hey, this spic is a girl!” Jason handled the sailors mostly and Billy helped carry me away. They took me to theirs and gave me ice and a soda, we’ve been friends ever since. 

Jason made a face and I knew he remembered what Iʻd been busy with that day. “How ya holdin’ up, kid?” Jason asked as I stepped off my brother’s bike. I guess it was mine now. I leant it up against the back wall and Jason tied it to a rail with some rope and one of those Boy Scout knots.

I shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Anyone inside?” I slipped my mask out of my pocket and tied it on.

“Yeah, quite a few actually.” He gave a small salute and opened the door for me.

I walked through the backdoor and down the stairs to the basement where there was another door with a specific knock to it. Billy opened it up and smiled at me from under his blue mask.

“How you doing, Miss Thang?” He never called me by my name down here. Names weren't a thing here, never knew what messes you might end up in.

I nodded at him with a smile. “Seems crowded tonight,” I said before scanning my eyes over two giggling girls in pink dresses looking over at me. I smirked. “Just the way I like it.”

Billy reached for my long coat, but knew I always kept my hat on. This whole get-up was stolen from my brother's closet years ago. For a second, I was mad it didn't smell like him anymore. I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows and lit a cigarette onto my way to the girls in pink. 

“Now what are two innocent little things like you doing in the depths of hell?” I blew smoke out and smirked at their blushing cheeks. They looked at me with a sort of amazement. I adjusted the knot on my tie. “What? Never seen a queer Mexican girl before?”

These two white girls giggled again. “No just you're so handsome,” one said.

“You can tell a pretty girl from under a mask?” I teased. “That’s quite the talent, honey.” I watched the girl blush and smile. The her friend ruined the moment with an entirely too loud comment.

“And I don't think you're Mexican, you don't have the accent?” the other one said.

I arched an eyebrow. “Whereabouts in Europe is your family from?”

“France.”

“Where's your accent, I wonder?”

“Don't listen to her,” the first one said to me, “She's not familiar with colored folk. See, she’s from Utah.”

“And where are you from, honey?”

She stood up a bit straighter, wanting to look proud and worldly. “Houston. We go to school up north. We came down on a road trip. The 101, you know? And we just kinda ended up here.”

I nodded and took a drag again. It was the same covered up story. They'd been dared to come here by other members of their travelling group. They'd go back to their hotel rooms and I'd be the story they told over eggs and toast in hushed giggles and code. These girls were temporary and I needed temporary. 

I curled a finger at the Houstonian and she leaned in. I whispered into her ear, “It's too bad the dare involved both of you cause I can see we both would've had a great night.” She pulled back and bit her lip gently. “In case you wanted to see the best sunset in LA.” I said out loud with a wink. I could talk white-girl code too. 

Utah looked confused and pulled on Houston's hand. “It's getting late, we should go.” Houston stared at me as Utah pulled her to the entrance. I shot her one last wink and saw her sigh as she turned to leave. I smirked and blew smoke up in the air.

“You do that with all the girls?” asked a familiar accented voice.

I turned to find her, the girl who showed up at least once a week and always managed to end up on my lips. She had shoulder length jet black hair, always pulled back in loose curls. She had a light rose mask and always red lipstick. Tonight she was in a tighter dress than usual, black, ending entirely too high to be considered decent. And suddenly, my tie was entirely too tight to be considered comfortable. She held up a cigarette to her red lips.

“Only the preciously innocent ones,” I said and lit a match for her. “I wouldnʻt play those games on you.”

“Oh you wouldnʻt,” she said with a smirk. “Whyʻs that? Not innocent enough?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, we both know the answer to that question.”

The mysterious girl bit her lip slightly. “Arguably, you were the one to corrupt me.”

“I don't doubt that. Granted,” I smirked. “I do have a reputation to maintain.”

She smiled and slipped her hand into one of my suspenders. “Then let's go maintain it,” she said, pulling me into a different set of stairs, these ones ascended into heaven.

 

I slipped my watch on and looked at the time. It was almost four in the morning and almost time for me to start my way home. I buttoned my shirt and tucked it into my high waisted pants. 

“You weren't here last night,” the British beauty told me.

I nodded while lifting my collar to tie my black tie. “Had to sleep. Had an early morning.”

“Sounds somber,” she noted. “Where'd you have to go, a funeral?”

I looked at her and her smile faded in a few moments. “It was my brother,” I said.

“I'm sorry.”

I sighed and slipped my arms into my suspenders. Something about this, about getting ready to leave, about her still lying naked on the bed, about the night sky still covering us, about the walls keeping us safe from the cruel world outside, made me unravel. “They say it was an accident, but something's not adding up. Something in my gut’s telling me he didn't die by accident. And my parents won't listen to me and the cops won't listen, so what next?” I ran my hand over my hair, finally freed from my hat. “Do I just let him die in a lie?”

She didn't say anything, she just stood up and hugged me around the back. She leaned her head on my shoulder. I ran my hand over her arm then held her hand gently, my thumb running over it a few times.

“I have to go.”

She nodded and let go of me. I knew she'd go silent in these moments. She'd just lay back down and look out the small window. I wondered if she watched the sunrise like I did on my way home. Who knows, maybe we shared two things.

I walked down to the now empty club, the only people there were Billy and a sleeping Jason in one of the chairs. Jason always ended up passing out next to Billy when most everyone had gone home for the night. He liked keeping him company, he knew it calmed him down.

Billy was an interesting kid. He was peculiar about things like touch and eye contact, he also had a tendency of letting jokes slip past him. We just went with it, he was a sweetheart and we knew he'd always be there if we ever needed him. What fascinated me most about Billy was how he ended up dating a white boy. Billy was from Watts and Jason was born in West Hollywood. I'd asked them before and they always just said, “We met in high school.”

Billy handed me my jacket with a smile and a “See ya later Miss T.” I smiled back and flicked the front of my hat at him. I walked up the steps and out the door where Uncle Z was having a smoke. I didn't know what Z stood for, he said he thought it was dumb so he just went by Z. He was queer like his nephew, and like all of us had to keep it secret. He’d just found a way to bring us all together. I always wondered what made him open his doors to non-whites as well and he always just said, “Everyone needs a home.”

“Another good night?” Uncle Z asked, sitting on a few empty crates. I smiled and pulled at my bike which had already been untied. 

“Not bad,” I said with a smirk and he smiled, patting my shoulder in a very fatherly manner. I got onto my bike and as I was about to say goodbye I heard a yell from the other side of the alley.

“Povreek!!!” 

I turned to see rather round Armenian man stumbling along in a messy suit. I looked down at my watch, the bars in the Eastern neighborhood over closed two hours ago, but the West Hollywood bars had only closed forty minutes ago. Seemed like a long walk to get some booze, if you asked me. I watched the round man and arched an eyebrow.

“What are you doing, Povreek?!! You are not supposed to be walking! And here, Povreek on a bicycle!!”

Uncle Z walked up next to me and a slimmer man in a neater suit walked up to the drunk round one. He started talking to him in hushed sounds.

“But Povreek here on bicycle. Povreek, dead!”

The slimmer one looked directly at me and I did my best not to flinch. He made a strange face and pulled the round man away. The rough quick footfalls disappeared after a few seconds, telling us they’d run off, no matter how clumsy.

“You know that guy?” Uncle Z asked. We were both still looking down the alley. 

I shook my head.

“Only ask ‘cause it seems weird to have a nickname for a stranger.”

“What he say? Povreek? You know what that means?”

“Yeah, grew up with some Armenian kids. Still remember some,” he said.

I looked at him for the first time and for some reason, I sensed we had similar thoughts. “What’s it mean?”

“It means Tiny.”


	3. Chapter 3

I took Hollywood Boulevard past the Armenian neighborhood and into Echo Park. Uncle Z didn’t want me going into the heart of the neighborhood with someone thinking I should’ve been dead. “At least for tonight,” he’d said. “Take the scenic route.”

But for brown girls in richer neighborhoods, there was no scenic route when the sun was coming up. I sped through Echo Park, hoping no newly appointed park guard was looking to start his new job bright and early on his first day. Last thing I needed was to have my parents come pick me up from jail in my brother’s clothes. I’d end up accidentally killing them. I sped out of the park and onto the jagged, hilly roads of Palo Verde. 

I stepped off of the bike and started walking it up the hills. The sun had just started peaking over the hills, meaning people would be getting up right now and be out and about in half an hour. My father had a job in a store in Chinatown and my mother helped the neighborhood women with sewing repairs. She’d take me some days, but mostly I was expected to have dinner ready and clean up around the house. 

I looked at my little neighborhood. It was mostly small houses and a couple apartment buildings scattered throughout. Most of the roofs were tin and the houses were wooden, but the fences were thrown together with non-uniform bricks and planks. It was nothing like the brightly lit neighborhoods further west. Most of these houses didn’t even have access to running water or electricity. The government kept telling us we’d get power next year, but that promise seemed like it’d be renewed indefinitely.

I made it to my small, but well-built house. It wasn’t as small as the other houses in the area, but it wasn’t particularly spectacular. It was painted brown with a small porch and inside two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room and the real luxury, a bathroom with a shower. My father used his GI Bill money to get a home loan on this nice house. He wanted something to leave his son for the future, so he wouldn’t have to struggle like he did. He said if I got married first then I could have it. That was the first time I wondered if my parents realized I was an afterthought to them. 

I went around the back and chained up the bike as silently as I could, then climbed into my open window. Carlos popped into my head as I did. He would always show up at the same time as me and pull me down onto the ground before laughing and climbing into the window. He’d say something like stop stealing my suits as he dropped onto his bed in the bottom bunk. He was always either sleepy or drunk. I stared at his empty bunk, thinking about how much of a pain in the ass that short climb to my bed was. He wasn’t there to stop me from dropping onto his bed like he had every morning since we started sneaking out at night. I turned away and stripped out of my clothes except for my underwear and a white t-shirt.

I looked at the bottom bunk once more, but climbed up so I wouldn’t rub his scent into hers that she’d left on my skin. I pull the blankets over me and inhale the smell of her again. The British girl was a bit of a mystery. I didn’t know her name or anything about her other than she was born in London. One night, while drunk and forgetting my manners, I asked her how a brown girl could have such a white accent. She’d laughed and told me her parents were Indian, but that they had died a few years ago, leaving her to be taken care of by an aunt who lived nearby. After she looked at me like she was certain I’d forget what she said next then whispered, “sometimes, you feel like home.” I blushed at the memory and closed my eyes.

  
I woke up a few hours later, these last few days had been giving me trouble staying asleep. I got up off the bed and found a bag sitting by Carlos’ side of the closet and a note scrawled in Spanish. Give the clothes to the church, it said. I looked in Carlos’ side of the closet. Navy, black , and brown coats that had all been meticulously cleaned by my hands. White Cotton dress shirts hanging in a row. Carlos would pay me 50 cents to iron each one. Then louder, brighter shirts and black shirts. Then several pairs of pants, the tight ankles made them look like long triangles. Long chains and suspenders hung over one pair. Then his hats, his two pocket squares, his three ties which would be on the ground if it hadn’t been for me picking them up. I was in a way the reason why he looked so good all the time. I flipped through the clothes I’d labored over for hours and always wanted more than anything. Finally there was a chance to get a hold of them and my mom wanted me to donate them. I turned around and pulled a secret trunk out from under Carlos’ bunk.

He’d asked me to help him sneak it into the house through the window then said I was never allowed to touch it again. Naturally, I developed a knack for making it look like I hadn’t been in there. I picked the lock with a bobby pin like I had dozens of times before. There was a mess inside like there always was. There were bits of cloth and paper and a few shinier metal bits here and there. I pulled at the metal and found they were switchblades. Those hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Two were solid black and one was emerald and engraved T.O. I got up to lock the door and set the blades on his bed  I started sorting the stuff into piles next to the knives.

Next I pulled out all of the cloth. More ties and pocket squares, but these were embroidered with symbols that looked like words, but not using any alphabet I could recognize. Then I took out the magazines, but those I was familiar with. A queer girl must seize opportunities wherever she can. All that was left were papers with notes in the same illegible alphabet as the squares and ties. I collected them and hid them in one of the magazines. I organized the items neatly back inside. I went back to the closet and took everything I liked from his side; the rest I put in the bag, my mother had given me.

I changed into a girlier outfit and took the bag to the church. The priest tried to talk to me to tell me the lord has a plan and his plan for my brother was still great, no matter how short. I looked at this old man, wondering if he’d think God’s plan was still great if he’d died at eighteen. Then I made my way around the community, gathering supplies and returning things that my mother had repaired to others. They rarely spoke to me, but even less now that they had nothing to ask me about. My mother wouldn’t let me take the bike or else I’d go into other neighborhoods to get supplies for dinner, but without it, it was hard to get anything without running into everyone who’d seen you grow up your entire life and thought there was something odd about you.

I came back home and cooked while my brain, energized by my solitude, started spinning around what happened the night before. Just like something told me my brother didn’t die by accident, something told me that the two men from the last night meant my brother when they yelled out “tiny.” The same something told me that Carlos’ randomly acquired blades were connected to his randomly acquired death. And no matter how much I tried to concentrate on the caldo I was cooking, I couldn’t get it out of my head that if the cops weren’t gonna investigate, then I would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super long, but the next one has sexy times so, ye.
> 
> Still working out the plot a bit if yall wanna give me some input!
> 
> @bihoodnerd tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrilege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sacrilegious smut lies ahead. You've been warned.   
> This is lowkey my take on Hozier, tbh.

That night I rode into East Hollywood from H Boulevard again, just in case. I rode in a bit earlier than usual and found Billy and Jason talking in the back doorway. I stepped off my bike and saw Jason try to close the door behind him, before I pulled it open. 

“You guys can start frenching in a second,” I said moving in between them. Jason blushed a little and Billy muttered a little “fine.”

Jason looked out the open door, still taking his job seriously, though Uncle Z’s secret wasn’t open yet. “What got you here so early, kid?”

“I need you guys’ help. I wanna investigate my brother’s death.”

Billy and Jason looked at each other. Sometimes I wondered if they could read the other’s minds cause they always looked at one another for a few seconds then always said the same thing. “We had a feeling,” Billy answered. 

“Z told us about what happened,” Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest. Billy glanced at him and crossed his arms over his chest, making Jason smile like the love-struck boy he was.

“So I wasn’t the only one who thought that had to do with Carlos?” I said out loud for the first time in the last twenty-four hours.

Jason shook his head. “That was a pretty specific thing to yell at someone you don’t know. But Trini,” Jason began, his voice turning more serious than I expected. “You sure you know what you wanna get involved with? Word is there’s really only one gang in that neighborhood and it sure as shit ain’t friendly.”

I exhaled deeply. “Maybe so, but I gotta know what happened to him. Plus, I can look more innocent if I wanted.” My side of the closet was nothing but embroidered Mexican dresses that always made me look younger and sweeter than I was. I accidentally let out a yawn and tried to cover it with words. “I just have to look like a girl.”

“Trini have you been sleeping?” Billy asked. “You have those same tired eyes Jason gets.”

As much as I could lie easily to anyone else, something about Billy just made it impossible to be anything but honest with him. “No. Well, kinda. I got about 3 hours this morning.”

Jason kissed Billy on the cheek. “Go take her upstairs so she can sleep for a little,” he said.

Billy nodded with a smile and kissed Jason back quickly. We walked through the empty club and went upstairs to the same room I was used to. “Go enjoy your boyfriend,” I said, shooing him out of the room. He smiled and walked out. I stripped out of my newly acquired suit and climbed into the bed. Sleep came easily, and I hoped it’d stick around for a while.

But my dreams had another plan. They spun everything together like a kaleidoscope from hell. I dreamed about the round and skinny men, about them cracking my brother’s skull open then about them cracking Jason and Billy open. Then about them threatening me, but somehow finding the mystery girl and making me watch as they slowly taunted, holding a bat over her head, as the word tiny played over and over. When it finally came down, I shot up from the bed, fully awake.

Hands were on my arm in a second. I focused and saw it was the girl. There was no bat crashing down over her face, she was fine. “It’s okay,” she said. “It was just a dream.”

I threw my arms over her and pulled her against me. “You’re okay,” I said against her neck. I ran my hand over the back of her head and sighed. “You’re okay.” She put her arms around me as hugged me with the same tightness. I realized that this was the first time we’d ever hugged before anything more explicit and let go slowly. 

She put her hands on my cheeks. She seemed to be studying me, like she wanted to memorize the sight before her. “Sorry, I’ve just always wondered,” she said, a blush peeking out from under her pink mask. I touched my face and realized my mask wasn’t on and she could see my real face. Then it was my turn to blush a bright red. “You’re beautiful,” she said, noticing I was embarrassed. She pulled one hand away and reached behind her head. “Seems only fair.” She started undoing the knot that held her mask in place and lifted the pink mask from her face.

My eyes grew wide. I’d always expected her to be beautiful, but I was lost in the sight of her. She had long eyebrows that made her look refined, and a cute nose that curved up ever so slightly. She looked down, blushing a bit then looked back at me with those intense black eyes.

“Golly,” I breathed out. I ran my fingers over her cheek and she kissed my palm. She placed her hand on my own and brought it down to her lap. She looked at me, still blushing and leaned forward. She gave me something unexpected. It wasn’t a smirk, not a witty comeback, not a heated kiss like I’d come to expect. No, she kissed me softly like I was delicate, like I was worthy of being treasured. I wasn’t much of a treasure, but her. Damn she was worthy of worship. 

I kissed her gently, sucking on her bottom lip so long as she would allow me. My lips moved away to her neck, mapping the curves I longed to know by heart. I kissed lightly, making sure not to mark her even though I wanted to. I wanted the world to know I was her most dedicated follower. Someone who would die for her and live for her. As I kissed her skin, the same words I’d learned in church came to mind, a soft repetition of worship.

_ Dios te salve, Maria _ .

Her skin was soft under my lips. Kissing rose petals would not be as sweet. I was convinced in that moment that god spent years sculpting her from only the finest of materials, from only the richest earth. But if god wouldn’t take her, then I would take her and take her in hell until she had her fill of the heaven I’d make for her. I unzipped her dress and she slipped out of it with another kiss. I undid her bra and slipped it off.

_ Llena eres de gracia _ .

I took time to admire her full breasts. There was a light blush on her cheeks and a nervous little smile. 

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper to her with a kiss to her cheek. 

_ Bendita eres… _

I kissed her blessed chest and took one nipple into my mouth. Her soft moans urged me in my ministrations. I bit them lightly and heard her call out softly to a god despite the fact that she was the only goddess in the room. I kissed down her smooth tummy. My hands moved to slip her panties off. 

_...entre todas las mujeres _

I knelt between her legs and kissed the inner part of her thighs. 

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly. I looked up at her. She laughed and added, “So I know what to scream.”

I smirked. “Trini.”

“Trini. I’m Kimberly.”

I nodded. “Hello, Kimberly.” I moved closer and placed kisses on her pussy before licking from the bottom to the top. Kimberly’s moans kept me on that little nub at the top, making circles around it with my tongue. I slid one hand over her thigh, moving closer and closer to where she wanted my fingers. I kept licking as I let my fingers explore her entrance. 

_ Y bendito el fruto de tu vientre _

I moaned at how wet she was. I moved my tongue down to taste her and the abundant sweetness. Her hand moved to knot itself into my hair.

“Trini,” she called out lightly. I looked up. Kimberly was pressed hard against the pillow her eyes trained on me, a request behind her eyes.

_ Ruega senora…  _

“Beg, baby girl,” I said. 

Kimberly whimpered but soon it came out. “Please fuck me. Please, please.”

_...por nosotros los pecadores... _

I dipped my fingers into her and started moving them slowly. My tongue continued its work on her little nub. I revelled in the sin I could never confess. But never would I want to be absolved of her. I started pumping harder and fast as her calls grew louder.

“Trini, oh Trini.”

_...Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte _ .

I felt her start to clench around my fingers. Her fingers dug into my hair keeping my in place. She clung to me like I was a rosarie, like I was her conduit to god. Or perhaps just to the heaven I was pumping into her.  With a final scream of my name, and valliant and well-rewarded effort on my part, Kimberly’s fingers loosened their grip and slipped out of my hair. I kept kissing her thighs until I felt her fingers move over the back of my hand.

“Come here.”

I crawled up and she pulled me into a hug. With her face in my neck, she drifted to sleep.

_ Amen _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Tags may change as this goes along.
> 
> Let me know how you feel about it.  
> Or if you want some changes.  
> Or what made you laugh or what line you liked.  
> Comments are the best!


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